Science Fiction has always had a thing for brains. Not just big brains inside scientists, but brains just kind of hanging out there– H.G. Wells described his octopoid Martians as being, essentially, brains with hands, eyes and a minimum of other organs or structures, ‘Doc’ Smith’s Arisians were (apparently, hard to tell with these folks) gigantic brains (generally with a minimal body supporting them), Curt Simodek’s classic Donnovan’s Brain was hugely influential, and even racist crank and horror author H.P. Lovecraft featured disembodied brains in cans as a concept in a story… and this is only the tip of the iceberg. Floating brains, brains in computers, brains transplanted into other bodies, the list goes on and on. So, somewhere in here, I needed to do something with this idea. It’s too classical to overlook.

I wanted a brain-centric species, but not one that was obviously Wells’s Martians or anything like that, and big-headed humanoids weren’t really my style either. (Anyway, they might wind up looking too much like the Hmar, and I like the Hmar the way I wrote them.) So what might be better for their design? I liked the general brain plus tentacles idea, but not the Wells Octopus look. (Besides, it subtracts a bit from brain primacy in actual design.) But what if they had a big brain, eyes standing out, and visible nerve trunk tentacles? That was more brain-focused… but, of course, it didn’t really make any sense to have the brain and nervous system exposed to the elements. But what if there was a body, and it was just hard to see? Transparent flesh let me have it both ways, and I also opened up the door to skin dyes and tattoos as personal expression and a way to have some individuals with a different look, so I went with that.

But how would I represent this brain-centered people mechanically, to fit their theme? Making one species more intelligent than another might be a common approach in science fiction, but I don’t like the idea, for a wide range of reasons, not the least of which is a dislike for the notion of single intelligences. Besides, my game system doesn’t even have an Intelligence attribute, or anything remotely close to one. However, I’d already decided to use psionics, and I already had one species that was entirely psionic, so why not another one? A telepathic species would certainly fit the bill nicely for the living brains, so I went with that.

Of course, that leads to the next question: What would this telepathic culture be like? Science fiction has always had a certain tendency for “More Evolved” (and don’t get me started on how stupid that is) brain-centered species to be, at a bare minimum, smug and condescending to everyone else (even when they’re the viewpoint characters, and sometimes without the least hint of author awareness or irony) and it would make sense for them to have that attitude towards outsiders. (“How can we consider these aliens even sapient? They can’t communicate, except by making crude howls with their mouths! Surely they can’t really think!”) Their initial sense of xenophobia and superiority would have mellowed a bit, of course, and if I made them neighbors to the Amok, who telepathic power cannot stop, that would give them plenty of incentive to work with outsiders. But it would be hard for them to really acknowledge outsiders, and there would often be a sense of distance from them.

And that leads to the question of a name. A purely telepathic species probably won’t structure their “Language” the way we would, and while they may have some kind of secondary communication form for situations when telepathy wasn’t possible, they probably wouldn’t have a name for their own kind that could translate easily, and if nobody else got to get away with calling themselves “Humans” or “Us,” they wouldn’t either. I assumed that their individual names would be telepathic sigils that wouldn’t translate into a spoken language, and imagined the conversation that they might have with an outsider: “Okay, but what do we call you?” “We’re us. You’re you.” “Yeah, but we need a name. One we can pronounce.” “Why do we care about what you call us with those primitive sounds you make with your mouths? Just pick something. I don’t care. Your throat-humming cacophony is irrelevant.” “Fine. I’m calling you George.” “All right. We are George. You may call me George Alien-Talker. That is George Brutal Guard. She is George Impatient Physicist.”

And there we are. Georges.

So, the thing is, I don’t like “Warrior Races.”

I just don’t. There have been plenty of cultures that glamorized warfare, of course, but if you look at any of them, you’ll discover that you’re selling short the full depth of their culture. Too often, in Science Fiction, “Warrior Cultures” are used as shortcut excuses to bring in a certain type of character, and falling into the trap of making a culture or species define all members of it. People vary from each other; large cultures develop subcultures, regionalisms, and how well could a culture that was truly dedicated to war survive its industrial age, anyway? And even if the entire culture is somehow military, this fails to grasp the fundamentals of what makes an army work– Heinlin’s Starship Troopers had a ridiculous notion that “Everybody works, everybody fights” but who’s shipping more ammunition to the soldiers? Who’s running the supply depots? Who’s caring for the wounded, who’s coordinating battle plans, who’s tracking the food that goes to the Mobile Infantry? Who’s preparing it? Who’s coordinating orders sent between units? They literally can’t all be on the front lines!

But still… the idea is tempting. How could I do a “Warrior Race”? (Ignoring the fact that the entire term is garbage, of course.) What’s a reasonable way to do a culture where everything is based around their military? How could I make that make sense?

And there, the solution was obvious– what if something happened, some terrible catastrophe that wiped out everyone else? That would be a devastating blow to their culture, of course, but whatever was left would surely be built on the remaining structure that they had, and if this catastrophe was recent, that would do.

I could include notions of “Honor” as being part of military training and discipline, always good for the flavor of a species like this. It would make sense that they’d cling to military structure in an effort to find something of their own to hold on to, some kind of values and order. Many of them would find ways to work in the military in larger Galactic society, as well, letting them continue to have their culture. So why not?

A particular detail that I wanted to add was the “Honor Blade” as a weapon; it’s a very common trope, and players who were drawn to this species might well want such a thing. I ran into an obstacle there, though– I didn’t want it to be a katana, for one thing. I think they’re overdone, and the mythology surrounding them comes from a great deal of fictional history and actual fiction. I didn’t want anything like a marine saber or cutlass, and I didn’t really want any kind of sword at all. I didn’t want to delve into the stranger side of the Bud K catalog, either, and have a weapon as strange as a Bat’leth, or anything even close to that. I wanted a weapon that was a bit exotic, not something everyone would think of right away, not a modified tool like an entrenching tool or an axe, and not simply a sword, but still something that was reasonably practical and realistic. This was a bit tricky, but I dug around, and decided to model the Honor Blade on the Zulu iklwa. The iklwa, for those who don’t want to Google it, is a long-bladed short spear developed by the famed Shaka Zulu for his armies. It’s distinctive, it was a very effective melee weapon, and it’s interesting, and yet it’s a model of weapon that is shamefully neglected by mainstream media. (Why? Well, I’m not an expert, but I think that the widespread efforts to ignore anything coming out of any African culture is a large factor; I can’t say if the racism is overt or subconscious, but it seems to be a big factor.) So, the Honor Blade, done.

That left coming up with the general anatomy of this race of soldiers who’d survived a horrific catastrophe. I vaguely was inspired by the notion of this warrior culture being Martians, for Mars, of course, but that didn’t really work in my setting. But what if the were inspired by the idea? Not the Wells Martians– as interesting as they are, that’s not what I wanted, and it’s too obvious anyway. Not quite the Bradbury Martians, but that’s getting closer. I wanted humanoids, and so I decided to embrace that Space Opera Martian-ness, and have them tall, and green, with antennae! But… why would they all be green? The lack of ethnic subgroups in speculative fiction (like the lack of religious and cultural diversity in a given nonhuman culture) is absurd, so I gave them a range of skin tones, a number of different “antennae” styles, and a range of now-extinct nations to be from. I warred with making them hairless, but ultimately decided that the military cultures shaved their heads, but they could grow hair if they stopped shaving. (I also gave them heat beams as weapons, calling back to those Wells Martians. Well, why not?)

I did give in and include one reference to an absurd piece of Martian media, though. I note in the name section of the writeup that, because of a recent cultural hero, there are a lot of Hmar with “-mar” as the second syllable of their personal name, so names like Talmar, Chumar, Dalmar and so on are very common.

Or, to put it another way, other common Hmar names might be Kimar, Momar, Bomar or Girmar. In other words, some Hmar might very well have names straight out of Santa Claus Conquers the Martians.